Qu. No my Loue, I should not mourne, but dye for
thee.
Enter a Messenger.
King. How now? What newes? Why com'st thou in
such haste?
Mes. The Rebels are in Southwarke: Fly my Lord:
Iacke Cade proclaimes himselfe Lord Mortimer,
Descended from the Duke of Clarence house,
And calles your Grace Vsurper, openly,
And vowes to Crowne himselfe in Westminster.
His Army is a ragged multitude
Of Hindes and Pezants, rude and mercilesse:
Sir Humfrey Stafford, and his Brothers death,
Hath giuen them heart and courage to proceede:
All Schollers, Lawyers, Courtiers, Gentlemen,
They call false Catterpillers, and intend their death
Kin. Oh gracelesse men: they know not what they do
Buck. My gracious Lord, retire to Killingworth,
Vntill a power be rais'd to put them downe
Qu. Ah were the Duke of Suffolke now aliue,
These Kentish Rebels would be soone appeas'd
King. Lord Say, the Traitors hateth thee,
Therefore away with vs to Killingworth
Say. So might your Graces person be in danger.
The sight of me is odious in their eyes:
And therefore in this Citty will I stay,
And liue alone as secret as I may.
Enter another Messenger.
Mess. Iacke Cade hath gotten London-bridge.
The Citizens flye and forsake their houses:
The Rascall people, thirsting after prey,
Ioyne with the Traitor, and they ioyntly sweare
To spoyle the City, and your Royall Court
Buc. Then linger not my Lord, away, take horse
King. Come Margaret, God our hope will succor vs